I used to dream.
I used to dream. I’d sometimes dream of waking up in a metal casket thousands of miles from Earth or of taking the bus to work when I was just 17. I’d wake up, disoriented, eyes still shut, grasping desperately for the end of the story.
“Brrrr I’m freezing… but I want to stay out just a while longer”, she said through the soft shivering of her breath.
“Whenever you want to head in, we’ll go.”
It was beautiful. We watched the sunset, on a lonely little hilltop. I remember the wind blew and we’d struggled to keep the blanket on the ground. I’d brought sandwiches, tuna-mayo our favourite, and a bottle of wine (a splash of which ended up on the blanket). You could see every little light of the city shimmer as the sun slowly crawled its way down behind them; the final golden glow, bouncing off her skin.
She’d walked towards it, into the sunset, but stayed close enough that when she turned to look at me, I could still see those pretty eyes of hers. She was the moon and all I could see was the crown illuminating her perfect silhouette. Yet, those faintly visible eyes, ever so fierce and enchanting pierced through my walls. That image of her, ever so charming, was burned into my eyes – like “Girl with a pearl earring” on “San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk” — to forever live in my mind.
“Why do you do this for me?” she asked.
“You deserve everything in this world. I guess this”, I gestured around, “was what I could offer today.”
“Now I feel guilty.”
“Don’t. Hmm… Jus–just enjoy this moment with me, and we’ll call it even.” She stayed quiet for a few more moments after that. She must have been pondering what to say, what to feel, what to do. I couldn’t blame her. After all, I didn’t deserve her, but she deserved everything.
I was holding back tears, of joy or blue I’m unsure, but I felt my eyes ache with every second we spent on that hill. I felt the shake in my voice, every word coming out with a struggle. My stature crumbled in the shadow of hers. Every minute a wave of grief struck me. I was the wanderer, looking over the sea of fog. At the same time, I was also relieved. Relieved that I finally let my walls down once again and to have tried. And in that, her presence still warmed me while the sun failed to.
“Do you want to go in now? We can still see the sunset from the car.”
“Alright. I’ll clean up, you get warmed up inside.”
Maybe I would wake up, alone again, wishing once more to see the end of that story. But no matter how much I’d closed my eyes, it was all too real to change. She’d already made up her mind by the time we got on that lonely little hilltop. The wine stain would stay on the blanket. And all that I was left with was the image of her, standing in front of the sun, burned into my eyes. A painting I’d cherish forever.
I used to dream.
